Somewhere in all the movement
I set down the megaphone,
Still hearing the echo of my own voice
As it traveled
North, East, South, West,
On to, up and down Main street;
Social leaders don’t choose
the precise moment
When they thus become
Leaders,
“Accidental” leadership
–The moment chooses them;
Nor do they choose
Exactly when
their time eclipses;
Social injustice
Is a warfare,
Literal,
and of daily heartbreak;
The activist by Call
Resides on this ground zero,
Tending, carrying, soothing and rallying,
In rotation
With other ethical co-conspirators,
A Rotation
To protect the already traumatized
From too
Too much;
Gradually, I took my leave
When the marches thinned,
And logistics began
to overshadow the purpose;
The march marches on
In different capacities,
As it has always,
My prayer is that our call
And the response
Forever is remembered,
re-called,
And flesh tones
Like and unlike mine
find purpose, place, and responsibility still
In the movement
Of heart,
Of calling out injustice
invoking community love,
And keeping the justice system
In check
With a social justice
Call
And response;
A leader still,
My call
Is a labor of love,
unending
A different hat I will wear for now,
As I heal and grow,
An injustice-weary heart.
Cipher
I have not the slightest idea
What to write
Yet;
My fingers ache
For the outstretched movement of muscle,
To bring symbols to life,
With a scratch of graphite,
The flow of ink,
In key presses,
Or a screen swipe by impatient digits;
This mind is a cipher
of possible letter,
word combinations,
Awaiting the right alignment,
A key
–Inspiration,
To Communicate
Feeling and thought,
Forged in the furthest recesses
Of this artistically wired mind,
Bringing forth symbols,
Strung into messages,
All in an effort
to unlock,
and light up thine.
Brown and Lovely
Brown,
A color often not given much love,
It’s a color often only liked by association,
I wonder
What is it about the color of wood, earth and chocolate,
That we avoid,
Black is beautiful,
And brown a twist
A darkened orange
Often left out of the mix,
My aunt once marveled about my skin,
As “brown and lovely”
I rebuked
Knee jerked,
internalized oppression
Creeping in,
Not letting me see brown as Beauty,
On me
Fast forward,
Black Lives Mattered,
And layers of concealer were peeled back,
To see hate self inflicted on me,
And others like me,
With little deaths,
Until depleted self-esteem
Threatened and began feeding on worth,
A self-love kick flipped my switch,
Rewound, and unwound
The mental emotional noose I was putting on daily for being in a vessel,
Beautiful,
But with “eyes” made blind to see,
Gazing mahogany to caramel through a distorted gaze,
In snapping out of it,
In waking up
I’m confident in identifying shades of me;
I am brown
and lovely.
Impossible Possible
Do you know who you would be today,
If no one had ever crushed any of your dreams;
If doubters had paid no mind,
And never stole your thunder?
Do you know how high you would have flown,
if as a little one, no one said you “can’t ”?
Do you know right now who you are,
And how perfect and amazing you are,
Regardless of what has come before,
Or where you are now?
“Perfect” is not
A state of flawlessness,
But being of use
for what a “something” was meant to be for.
Be you- perfect,
For you,
And realize it too;
just first believe
even the impossible is possible.
Amethyst (What Comes Next)
Today, something called to me
From inside,
A pull toward purple,
A smoky amethyst of soul,
A peace,
And acceptance
I have been striving for,
But could not seem to reach
by trying;
The more I let go,
The more I am at ease,
With what comes next,
Not with compliancy,
But reassurance
That despite how the path may be laid,
With twists, turns, cliffs, and valleys,
I will know how to balance,
On roads even unpaved;
Acceptance is trusting that the universe,
In all it has shaped me with,
Has made me able to withstand
And appreciate
Whatever happens next
Rain, On My Side of the Street
It’s raining
On just my side of the street;
Don’t believe?
Come, Come and see;
Feel the water,
Wet,
upon what was dry skin,
Feel my different perspective,
That is so close
But won’t touch yours ;
“Hey, what’s it called,
This anomaly?”
“The scientific reasoning?”
“And why you, not me?”
“Or does it even matter?”
Consider:
If you come over,
Is it still “You” versus “Me”,
When the rain is shared?
She of Letters 